


The Sound Check

by TheLadyMaul



Category: Duran Duran
Genre: F/M, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 01:07:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1799869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLadyMaul/pseuds/TheLadyMaul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>About May, 2003... Duran Duran are heading out on tour soon. The sound check has just ended, and John is waiting for someone to arrive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sound Check

Another sound check over, and after everyone else leaves the stage, I sit alone and look around the place.

This is what I've wished for, the band back together, a solid album, screaming crowds, a successful tour... But I guess I forgot how tiring touring is, how much I don't want to be away from home, how much I miss my family when I'm out here. Maybe I wished for the wrong thing.

Of course, I know what she would tell me. That it's possible to wish for the wrong thing, but more often, it's that a person finds that the right thing just isn't quite what we thought it would be. Sometimes we decide we want it anyway, and we adapt -- sometimes we decide we don't, and we find something else.

And then she'd laugh and tell me to stop obsessing.

I'd have much less time in which to obsess, if she could ever be on time. Where is she? She said she'd be here...

I fiddle with my bass, impatient and bored, only to hear Nick call out, "John -- in case no one told you, the sound check's over, you're allowed to exit the stage now!"

Roger's voice echoes quietly, "Leave him alone, you know she's supposed to be coming to see him today. Let him wait in peace."

I snort and roll my eyes.

"Well, she's got an even poorer sense of 'on time' than I have... "

"Nick? Shut up."

Finally, they retreat, and I'm alone on the stage. _Where is she?_

Ten minutes.

Fifteen.

I pick up one of the bottles of water sitting nearby and start flipping it, so that it makes little tornadoes. The action is childish and repetitive, but it passes the time.

A pair of hands covers my eyes, and a soft voice says, "Peekaboo!"

I turn, and there she is. "Where have you been? You're late."

She laughs softly and begins, "I took the wrong ramp off of the interstate -- "

Oh, God. She's gone and hired a car again. "If you'd just take a cab, or let me send a limo for you -- "

" -- but it's okay, because I spotted a really neat looking restaurant, and I think I can get back there."

I sigh. She's smiling, and I don't want to argue. I smile back.

"Cranky," she teases.

"I'm not cranky. I'm tired."

She laughs. "Same thing."

"Is not."

"Is too."

I narrow my eyes and pretend to glare, but I soon laugh, too. I stand up and sit my bass in its stand.

"You're really dressed up for a sound check," she grins.

"I seem to recall that you like it best when I have more things on for you to peel off of me," I grin, leaning over until our noses are touching.

"Are you suggesting I submit to ordering room service, after I went to all the trouble of getting lost and finding a restaurant?"

I put my arm around her and lead her off the stage. "Are you suggesting I ride around in circles with you in the car, until you give up and admit you can't find the place again, and we end up having room service anyway? Not to mention far less time in which to -- "

"Wah, wah, wah, always thinking about your stomach and your -- "

"So are you, and great minds think alike," I tell her, and she laughs, leaning into me as we walk.

I'm in exactly the right place, I realise, wanting exactly the right thing.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this in late 2006, and it was originally posted on the To Whom It May Concern DuranFic board (which no longer exists). Someone would choose a photo of one or more members of the band for the monthly Photo Challenge, and the idea was to let the photo inspire a short story. I have never been terribly good at that kind of writing, but for the involved photo, this story simply popped into my head. It's been gently "tweaked" here, but is little changed from how it was originally posted.


End file.
